Gareth sat and waited, watching the others leave— watching the security team leave. They all moved together in a way that implied familiarity, and Gareth noticed they all wore the same pairing of weapons— a sword at one hip, a simple pistol at the other. The only acceptable sort of weapons for gentlefolk to wear in public.

He inclined his head as Evelyne passed. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Corscia.”

“Remember, Mr. Ranulf, no wrong turns,” was Evelyne’s reply. She didn’t smile, but Gareth got the distinct impression she wanted to.

After she’d gone, Gareth pushed himself to his feet and went in search of his host, peering into a few cluttered, elegant rooms but finding no sign of Mr. Ochoa.

He saw himself out without a proper thank you or goodbye but stopped on the porch when he found Captain Nochdvor. The alfar stood at the balcony rail, watching the team trickle away, his broad frame outlined against the hazy glow of the city’s streets.

“Captain,” Gareth said, holding out a hand when Leandros turned to him. “Gareth Ranulf. I look forward to working with you.”

Leandros regarded the proffered hand curiously, and too late, Gareth remembered they didn’t do handshakes in Alfheim. They were too intimate. But Leandros surprised Gareth by shaking his hand, even smiling as he did. “Likewise. Ranulf, did you say? I know your sister.” Leandros paused and considered Gareth. “Would you say you’re…much like her?”

“Atiuh’s word, I hope not,” Gareth said, laughing. Again too late, Gareth remembered how Alfheim viewed such open displays of emotion.

But Leandros surprised Gareth again by not seeming offended. Instead, the tension in his posture eased and his smile turned a bit more genuine. It made the scar on his cheek twist. “I admit I’m glad to hear it. Moira was, ah, difficult to persuade when my cousin and I first asked Unity for help.”

Gareth cringed. “She can be like that. Not very empathetic, I’m afraid. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t hold it against you; we don’t choose our family.” Leandros’ expression shifted, but the fleeting hint of scowl quickly passed. “And you’re certainly the friendliest of the team I’ve met so far.”

“I’ve got to make friends somewhere,” Gareth said, pulling his cigarette case out. He offered it to Leandros. “Would you like one?”

“No, thank you.”

Gareth nodded, took one for himself, and lit it. “The others seem to already know each other, after all.”

“You noticed that too, did you? It’s just the security members and Ochoa, as far as I can tell,” Leandros said. He caught Gareth’s eye, something knowing in his expression. “What else did you notice about them, Mr. Ranulf?”

“Nothing,” Gareth said quickly. Leandros raised an eyebrow, and Gareth added, “Well, that’s not entirely true. The security team seems a bit off, don’t you think?”

He didn’t know how else to voice the intense feeling of unease they gave him, or that cold apathy behind their eyes. He didn’t know how to say, “I trust them more to stab me in the back than protect me,” but Leandros gave him that knowing look again, and Gareth thought he understood.

“Something that will hopefully pass the more time we all spend together,” he said, not sounding at all hopeful.

“Right,” Gareth said. He got the feeling he was missing something. It was the same feeling he got around Moira sometimes, or at Unity functions, like there was a game being played and he hadn’t been told the rules. “Who are they?”

“I don’t know. I know the diplomats’ stories, but Unity wouldn’t tell me anything about the security members. It’s a peculiarity we accepted when my cousin and I convinced them to let me lead the team,” Leandros said with a sigh. “It’s a comfort at least to know they’re the best Unity has to offer.”

“I must say,” Gareth said, “I’m a bit concerned. Now you, I’m sure you do this sort of thing all the time, but I—,”

“I don’t,” Leandros interrupted. “Do I seem like I do?”

“Why, yes. Very much so. You’re so…self-assured.”

Leandros snorted at that and shook his head. “If only I were. The mission itself is easy, but may I tell you a secret, Mr. Ranulf? I’ve never led anyone before. I keep worrying I’ll say something wrong and everyone will know I’m only pretending. I only agreed to do this because — well, I suppose that doesn’t matter. I’m glad I seem self-assured; I hope you won’t think less of me now that you know the truth.”

“On the contrary,” Gareth said, “I think more highly of you — and I’m certainly more comfortable knowing I’m not the only one who doesn’t know what they’re doing.”

“No,” Leandros agreed with a small smile, “You’re definitely not, at that.”

Gareth cleared his throat and put out his cigarette. “Well, it was a pleasure meeting you, Captain, but I suppose I’d best be getting home before my wife misses me.”

Gareth started down the steps, Leandros calling after him, “Do you need a ride?”

“No, thank you,” Gareth said. He took a deep breath; the night air was cold and refreshing, just what he needed after a meeting like that. “It sounds like we’re going to be doing a lot of walking on this journey, so I’d be wise to start getting in shape now.”

Leandros nodded. “A good idea, perhaps. Goodnight, Mr. Ranulf. Enjoy your walk.”

Gareth left Mr. Ochoa’s home behind, heading in the direction he’d arrived from. Soon, the estates of Ochoa’s neighborhood fell away to dull brick buildings and abandoned storefronts. He passed a tawdry public house and told himself he was still on the right path, that he had to pass through an unfashionable part of town to reach Main Street. This was just the way. He remembered it from the cab ride here.

So he kept walking, past the distrustful glances thrown his way, past the grimy children yelling “Sweep! Sweep!”, past street vendors and their carts until he passed into a small, run-down marketplace.

Gareth didn’t remember passing any marketplaces on the ride. He’d been watching out the window the whole way, but it was possible he’d looked away for a moment. He could’ve blinked and missed it. He continued on with more caution. Soon, the cobblestone turned to mud and the air filled with the smells of food and spices, only barely masking the stench of smoke, rot, and human waste.

When Gareth passed a sign that said, “Now Entering Greysdale,” he began to panic.

A small chimney sweeps bumped into him and deposited a thin layer of soot on his coat, the dusty ash standing out against the black fabric. Gareth frowned down at the ash and the boy, who cast too pitiable a figure to really be annoyed with. “Do you know the way to Kramer Street?” He asked, handing the boy a small coin.

After mumbling his thanks, the boy shook his head and ran off. As Gareth watched him go, he noticed a nearby street vendor watching him. He worked his way over to the man, a shopper breaking away from the vendor’s cart and bumping into Gareth on his way past, hastily offering an apology before continuing down the street.

“You’re gonna want to check you still have your purse,” the vendor suggested.

Gareth glanced over his shoulder to check that the man was speaking to him. “Me? Why wouldn’t I?”

The vendor looked up at the sky, as if asking Atiuh what he did to deserve his fate. “That fellow didn’t accidentally slam into you. It’s a con,” he explained, adding under his breath, “One I thought everyone knew.”

Gareth checked the inner pocket of his coat and breathed a sigh of relief to find his pocketbook still in it. He inched closer to the man’s cart. “Thank you, I should have seen the trick for what it was. Can you help me? I’m afraid I’m lost.”

The corner of the man’s mouth turned up in contempt. Or bitterness, perhaps. “Are you?”

“I’m trying to get to Kramer Street?”

The man thought a moment, then nodded. “Go on down this street and at the first chance, turn left. It’ll look like an alley, but don’ let that stop you. The other end opens up onto main street.”

Gareth thanked the man and followed his instructions, hesitating when he reached the mouth of the alley described. It was exactly the sort of place common sense told him to avoid: dark, with large objects obscuring the view to the other end. When he looked up, though, he could see the spires of a church he knew to be on main street.

Gareth held a handkerchief to his face to block the smell, so foul it brought tears to his eyes. It didn’t help much, but he plowed into the alley anyway. It would be worth it, to get out of this place.

He’d made it about a third of the way through when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, making him jump like a startled cat. He bit his own tongue to keep from shouting.

“Sorry to scare you,” the man said— it was the vendor from before, the one who’d given Gareth the directions. He wiped a hand across his mouth to cover a smile. “You dropped this, I think,” he said, holding out Gareth’s cigarette case.

Gareth reached out to take it, frowning when the man only pulled it closer to him.

“You should be careful walking around this place at night, sir. With your clothes and your fancy way of speaking, you’re asking to get robbed.”

It was impossible to miss the threat there, even for Gareth, who’d never found himself in a situation like this in his life. He readied himself to run. He could replace the cigarette case. The same could not be said of his life. But when he turned, he found another man standing behind him, this one with a long knife in his hand. It glittered in the sliver of moonlight that fought its way down to them.

It was the shopper that bumped into him earlier, Gareth realized. He looked so much like the man with his cigarette case that they had to be related, and Gareth cursed himself for not noticing it before.

He glanced toward the mouth of the alley. It had been so dark from the street. No one would see them. His mind shut down, left him unable to think anything besides “Atiuh, no,” or “please don’t do this.”

Gareth had always imagined that, being well-educated and reasonably clever, he’d react rationally in emergencies. He hated stories where the hero froze at a crucial moment. He hadn’t understood then the paralyzing effects of fear, the powerlessness that chilled your bones, that whistled through your blood with every beat of your heart. He understood it now, as the man’s knife danced along the back of his neck.

“Call for help and my brother will cut your throat faster than you can piss yourself.”

Before Gareth could feel a fresh wave of fear at that, the brother behind him held both of Gareth’s arms behind his back and the vendor slammed his knee into Gareth’s groin. Gareth grunted, the air leaving his lungs in a staccato burst, and he fell to the ground, barely registering the pain of his knees hitting the hard dirt.

“Take my money, just leave me be,” Gareth gasped when his breath finally returned to him. He wondered, briefly, what his father would think of him begging like this. This was not how Ranulfs behaved, even to save their own lives.

The vendor slammed his fist into Gareth’s face, and Gareth flew back at the blow, falling against the alley wall, the back of his head hitting the brick. Lights burst before Gareth’s eyes.

No one would see them and no one would hear them. Gareth retrieved his pocketbook with shaking hands and threw it at the vendor’s feet. The vendor rifled through it, pulled out Gareth’s Unity identification, and held the laminate papers to the light. “What’s this?”

“Looks like junk,” the other suggested.

“What’s it say?” the vendor asked Gareth. He sneered when he saw Gareth trying to inch his way down the alley. “Tag, stop him.”

He returned to studying the papers while Tag grabbed Gareth by the collar and pulled him back. “That’s Unity’s seal, right there. I bet we can get a good price for whatever this is. Search him, see if he’s hiding anything else.”

It was now or never.

“Help!” Gareth shouted as loud as he could. He thought he saw a shadow hesitate at the mouth of the alley but knew it must just be a hallucination brought on by wishful thinking. No one could see them.

He looked back at Tag in time to see a fist speeding toward his face and couldn’t even cringe when the blow struck, so intense was the pain. It was everywhere. It was numbing. He fell back against the wall again, and everything went black.